


Home for Christmas

by NotAGhost3



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera - Gaston Leroux, Phantom - Susan Kay, Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber
Genre: Awkward, F/M, First Meetings, Grief/Mourning, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Modern AU, Phantom of the Opera - Freeform, Road Trip, Romance, christmas phic, deals with mentioned death, one bed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-18
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:20:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 21,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23203114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotAGhost3/pseuds/NotAGhost3
Summary: Christine is en route to visit Mama Valerius for Christmas, but when her flight gets cancelled last minute, a disagreeable masked man might be her only hope to help her get home for the holidays...Modern AU. E/C.
Relationships: Christine Daaé/Erik | Phantom of the Opera
Comments: 36
Kudos: 89





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! This is a Christmas phic I started two years ago and I thought it was time to move it over here! First 6 chapters are done, so I'll post those probably every few days until they're all on this site and then update from there! This is a modern AU WIP, E/C! No particular cannon so pick your favorite Erik and Christine!

_"Attention fliers, flight number 217 bound for Chicago has been delayed due to weather. Thank you for your patience."_

Christine groaned, pushing through the holiday crowds of the airport as she read each label on nearly every suitcase that passed by in the baggage claim.

_John Baxter._

Not her.

_Tiffany Godwin._

Not her.

_Viv Testerman._

Nope.

_Dalton Kamper._

She huffed.

How many had she looked at in the past thirty minutes? Fifty? One hundred?

She leaned her head back and put a hand on her forehead. She was never finding her luggage at this rate. She checked the remaining bags once more for her name before coming to terms with reality: her luggage wasn't going to be there. Lost. Her luggage had been _lost_. She had been on plenty of flights in her life: back and forth with her dad as they traveled, and then later on for her work, but never in all her years had her luggage been _lost_. She let out a single forced laugh. How could this day get any worse? Her first flight into Atlanta had been delayed by three hours and now her luggage had been lost— _lost!_ It seemed she had only one option. The service office for the baggage claim sat across the room, tormenting her with the unescapable fact that she would have to _talk_ to somebody. _Face to face_.

She shuddered.

With a frustrated sigh she decided to not wait any longer to find someone who might be able to help her and whipped around— right into a tall man with three suitcases.

"Hey— watch where you're going!" the guy shouted at her after they had collided.

Christine quickly bent down to help him pick up his luggage as she apologized.

"I'm so sorry, I didn't see you there—" Christine started, but then stopped short as she looked up. The man was wearing a mask of what looked like black leather covering his entire face all but his eyes and mouth. _Danger(!)_ it seemed to warn, her eyes narrowing as she took a step back. She had never been one to be easily frightened- but she could take a hint. Especially when that hint was in the form of a looming black mask.

_Get it together, Daaé._

She cleared her throat and then cast her eyes away as she muttered another quiet 'sorry' and quickly walked away in the opposite direction of the man.

"Why are you so awkward, Chris?" she mumbled under her breath, headed towards the baggage claim service office.

It was going to be a long day.

* * *

An hour and what seemed like a gazillion forms later, Christine sat staring out the large glass windows of the airport, the grey sky matching the grey of the building around her as she waited until she could board her next plane… _without_ her luggage. With a roll of her eyes she reached into the pocket of her coat for her phone, desperate for any distraction at the moment. She pushed the home button of her phone, expecting the warm pink glow of her lock screen—

Black.

She clicked again.

Nothing.

She pressed the power button on the side.

A red battery indicator.

She wanted to pitch the whole rose gold rectangle at the window.

She clicked it one more time.

Again, nothing.

_Fan-flipping-tastic._

She stuffed the phone back into her coat pocket and reached for her purse to find her charger. Wallet, keys, hand sanitizer, kleenex, she could on, and on— but no phone charger. Then she remembered; she knew exactly where her phone charger was: in the front pocket of her suitcase…that was currently _not_ at the airport.

She let her face fall into her hands.

She heard the rustling of someone sitting beside her and she raised her head from her hands slightly as an idea formed in her mind. She could always ask this person next to her if they had a charger she could borrow. It was two days before Christmas and the neighborly thing to do would be to let her borrow a phone charger for 10 minutes, right? Besides, she had already talked to plenty more people than she had hoped to talk to today- what was one more person thrown into the mix?

She straightened up and zipped her purse shut and pivoted in the chair to face the man to the right of her. His shoulder was much higher than she had anticipated but his back was turned so thankfully he didn't see her surprised look. She reached up and tapped him on the shoulder.

She almost gasped when he faced her.

It was the man from earlier! The one she had ran into at the baggage claim!

_What a coincidence…_

An uneasy smile settled on her lips as he looked her up and down, his lips in a thin line.

"Hi, sorry to bug you, but do you have an iPhone charger? My phone is dead and I don't have my charger with me," Christine explained, trying not to focus on the mask in front of her. What an odd thing to wear in public. She'd seen surgical masks that people wore in the winter to guard themselves for sicknesses like the flu and pneumonia, but not one like this. It was akin to something from a Halloween party store, only it was much better quality than any she'd seen in a store. Maybe he'd had it custom made for something? A cosplay maybe? Or maybe he was apart of some group that liked wearing masks, like a cult?

Her stomach dropped.

She hoped this man in front of her wasn't in a cult.

Or worse: a terrorist.

Her smiled drooped slightly.

"I use Samsung."

"Oh."

A beat.

"I don't suppose you have a tablet that uses an Apple charger?" She tried, holding her purse a bit tighter in her lap.

"No," he snapped before reaching up to adjust the hat on his head, his other hand holding a book.

Christine opened her mouth to say something else, but the man continued speaking before she could get a word out:

"Even if I did have a charger that you could use, why would I permit you to use it after you so rudely crashed into me earlier this afternoon, hm?"

Christine bit her lip. "You remember that, do you?" she meekly said with a nervous laugh.

"I'm afraid your neon pink coat is quite hard to forget," he almost sneered, his lips in a smirk.

Christine laughed nervously again. She supposed the coat she was wearing was particularly bright. Pink was not a color she would usually wear, but Meg had let her borrow it since she didn't own any heavy winter coats and it was going to be very cold in New York and she couldn't be picky.

"Yeeaaaah…I'm sorry about bumping into you earlier, I really didn't mean to."

He gave a small 'hmph' before responding. "Yes, well my bags have precious cargo in them that I can't afford to damage."

Her mind flashed back to her earlier musings of the reason for the mask.

"But they aren't damaged, right?"

He stared at her for a moment, his hazel eyes appearing to be slits through the mask.

"I would check the gift shop around the corner, I'm sure they carry chargers there," he said quietly before turning back around to the book he had been reading.

The gift shop! She hadn't even thought of that!

"Of course— thank you!" she said to him even though he ignored her gratitude. She collected her purse and set off to find the gift shop—

_"Attention fliers, flight number 232 to Rochester has been cancelled due to weather."_

She stopped in her tracks.

That was her flight.

_Cancelled?_

She shifted slightly as people bumped into her shoulder trying to get around her but she couldn't move. How had it been cancelled? She looked out the window. Nothing. No rain, no fog, just grey clouds. How could it have been cancelled _due to weather?_ Her eyes found the call board. All across it flight after flight it was the same thing: delayed, cancelled, delayed, cancelled, cancelled, cancelled, cancelled, etc., etc!

She _had_ to get home to Mama, she couldn't let her down! Even if she could get on a later flight who was to say that it wouldn't get cancelled either? She clutched her purse a little tighter as her eyes roamed the room. How was she getting to Mama now?

_"Yeah, I heard it's because of that blizzard that's hitting the Carolinas now, nasty stuff."_

_"Really? I heard it was going to be bad, but I didn't think it would affect the flight!"_

_"Heard it was about the snow—"_

_"Blizzard—"_

_"Snowstorm—"_

Christine wanted to throw her hands over her ears at all the commotion going on around her. Snow? Did the South even get that kind of weather? She knew she had never seen any snow come her way in L.A.

_"I think I'm gonna see if I can find a Rent-A-Car instead of waiting around for this flight—"_

Christine's head whipped around at the sound of the familiar voice. It was the masked man walking briskly past her while talking on his cell phone. Drive…why hadn't she thought of that? It was far too long of a drive to get all the way to Rochester, but perhaps she could drive to another airport that she could book a flight on? Yes- that was a good idea! She began walking off in the direction of the masked man, surely he knew where he was going to find out where to rent a car! All she could do was follow and hope for the best. She could book a flight and find directions on her phone to a different airport—

Her phone was dead.

She sighed and turned around back towards the gift shop.

Charger first, car second.

She was getting home to Mama for Christmas, no matter _what_ it took.


	2. Chapter 2

"I'm sorry— say that again?"

To have started her day with lost luggage, a dead phone (which she would hopefully remedy soon with the USB cord and car adapter that she had purchased), and a cancelled flight, this was _not_ how she wanted to end her day. But it made perfect, awful sense didn't it? The stars were just _really_ lining up for her today…

"There's no more cars on the lot. We sold the last one to that gentleman over there," the sales rep droned, pointing a perfectly polished nail in the direction of a row of chairs off to the side of the help desk.

Christine's eyes followed the direction of the pointed finger all the way over to where a man sat at the row of chairs—

She blinked once.

_You have got to be kidding me…._

Her jaw dropped open. There sat the masked man, for the third time that day. Not the first, not the second, the _third_ time that he had managed to situate himself in the middle of her path that day. What were the odds? An airport full of people and the universe kept flinging this man right in her way. Didn't the universe realize how rude he was? How _done_ she was with this day and interacting with people? She had talked to a whole seventeen — _seventeen_ — people that day and that was seventeen more than she had ever planned to talk to.

She exhaled slowly.

It seemed that she would have to face him again if she was ever going to get home for Christmas.

"Thanks," Christine grumbled, snatching her purse off the counter and facing her doom. With one more annoyed sigh, she found herself marching over towards where the masked man sat, the nose of his mask buried into the book she recognized from earlier.

"Hi," Christine started, a fake smile plastered on her face as she adopted a sickly sweet tone. "Sorry to bother you again— do you have a minute?"

The man raised his eyes from his reading, before giving a slow, almost annoyed blink. He pursed his lips, dog-eared the corner of his book, and then shut it before gingerly placing it in his lap.

"So we meet again," he finally spoke, crossing two gloved hands over the cover of his book. "What shall it be this time? A pair of headphones? An extension cable? Or perhaps you're here to knock me over again— do allow me to prepare myself this time," he dryly suggested, a hint of irritation lacing his tone.

Heat rose to Christine's cheeks at his words and she felt her fists ball up at her sides. " _No_ , that is not why I am here," she said between her teeth, fed up with both his attitude and her bad luck. "I am here to," she paused to swallow, "to negotiate the car you just rented."

The man cocked his head to the side.

"Negotiate?"

Gosh, she hated talking to other people.

"Yes." _You can do this Christine, he's nothing but another bully. You need that car!_ "The woman at the desk said that you rented the last car here, and I am here to offer you double the money than whatever you paid to rent that car if you will let me rent it instead."

She regretted the words as soon as they had come out of her mouth. She didn't have the money to pay double the rent. She didn't even know if she had enough in her account to cover the cost of renting it at normal price like she had planned! She bit her tongue and waited.

A chuckle escaped the man's lips. "You honestly think I'm going to give up the last car on site just because you're offering me a bit of extra cash?"

Christine gave an uneasy smile. "That's what I'm hoping?"

He shook his head and leaned forward in the chair. "I have a crucial deadline to meet, and I have to be in Philadelphia by tomorrow evening. In case you can't do the math, that's nearly an eleven hour drive from here—"

"Philadelphia?" she cut him off, an idea forming in her mind. "I'm trying to get to Rochester!"

Pennsylvania was on the way to New York. If she could somehow carpool with this guy- she could get to another airport and fly to Mama from there. It was perfect! Well…all except the fact that she'd have to ride in a car with a stranger…

That was, of course, _less_ than perfect.

But was this man really a stranger? This was the third conversation she'd had with him today alone. That had to mean something, right?

_You don't even know his name, Christine…_

"Your point?" The man interrupted her inner musings.

Christine's eyes shot back to him at the sound of his voice. She took a deep breath before rambling off her idea. "If I could ride with you to Philadelphia I could get on a flight from there for the rest of the way to where I'm going. I could split the car rental price with you, and the gas too!" she explained, a bit more eloquently than she had expected she had to admit.

Maybe she was getting used to this whole talking to people she didn't know thing.

"Or not, if you don't want to," she quickly added, self-doubt creeping in when he didn't immediately answer her proposition.

His fingers drummed on the cover of his book as he looked up at her, seemingly pondering.

"So let me get this straight," the man began, still tapping out the steady rhythm on his book. "You are willing to ride over ten hours in a car with a man you've barely met, _haven't_ met I should say seeing as neither of us know the other's name. Just so you don't have to wait for another flight?"

Christine nodded.

The drumming stopped. "You're serious?"

Christine swallowed. "I _need_ to get home for Christmas. My flights been cancelled, the airport doesn't have a clue as to where my luggage could be, my phone is dead- and i just need to get to Rochester! It's very, _very_ important to me," her voice shook without her permission as she spoke despite her efforts to come off as strong. Even she could hear that she sounded as desperate as a child who had misplaced their parents.

He was silent for a moment as his eyes squinted, almost as if he was scrutinizing her as he looked her up and down. Then, by some miracle, he outstretched his left hand to her before saying:

"Erik."

She released a breath of air she hadn't even realized she was holding.

"Christine. Christine Daaé," She quickly answered him as she took his hand into hers and gave it a shake.

"Daaé?" The masked man— _Erik_ , she corrected herself, _he has a name now_ — asked, releasing her hand. She nodded and shrugged her shoulders, unsure of what he meant by repeating her last name, but she wasn't about to question it.

"Well, Christine, I suppose we should get going," and with that he stood, pulling a pair of keys from his pocket.

Christine stood gaping for a moment unable to believe what had just happened. It had worked! Her plan had actually worked! Doing her best to push all of her doubtful thoughts about him away, she hoisted her purse a bit higher on her shoulder as Erik motioned for her to follow along behind him as he began walking towards the door that led to the parking lot.

For the first time that day, she truly smiled.

Things were looking up.

* * *

Christine would like to make it known that any positive statement she had ever made about this man, she would like to retract it. Four hours alone in a car would annoy anyone, but four hours in a car with this insensitive cock of a man was about to make her rip her hair out. Her only relief from him had been when they stopped for gas about an hour back and even then that had only been about five minutes. However, one specific thought stuck out in her mind about him.

Where had he learned to drive?

"Erik," she sighed for what seemed like the tenth time that hour, "you are literally twenty-seven miles over the speed limit— are you _trying_ to get pulled over?"

She could see his eyes snap over at her from her peripheral.

"Seeing as you aren't a traffic cop, Ms. Daaé, I will take your opinion and throw it out the window."

There it was again.

_Ms. Daaé._

Ever since she told him her name, that's all he had referred to her as: _'Ms. Daaé'_. It wouldn't bother her as much if he didn't sneer it in such a sarcastic tone every time the words left his mouth. _'Ms. Daaé'_ , this, _'Ms. Daaé'_ that. Good lord, is this how her teachers had felt when she was child in school? Her eyes widened as the thought crossed her mind. The need to look them up and write a thank you note to every teacher she'd ever had was suddenly very present.

"Well I'm not paying for the ticket when you ultimately get one," she stated, turning her head in the opposite direction of him to look out her passenger side window.

"Hmph," she heard him grunt but refused to acknowledge him.

What had ever compelled her to get in a car with this stranger?

_You're on your way, just get to Mama._

With that thought she reached for her phone that sat in the cup holder, happily running on 100% now that it had been plugged into the charger for a few hours. She pulled up her internet browser to check on flights— _again_. Her luck really was running out today. It seemed that nearly every flight she could find was booked. Was Rochester really that much of a holiday destination? She had never been there before, so she couldn't really make a good educated guess. Mama Judy had only just moved out there this past summer. It was Judy's childhood home and she couldn't stand to see it sold to someone outside the family—

So she just moved there.

Which made it a lot harder for Christine to see her.

_Click._

_"Silver bells….silver bells…soon it will be Christmas day…."_

Christine turned her head to look at Erik.

"Sorry," he said, glancing her direction. "I can turn it off if you want—"

"No," she said, a bit too quickly. "No, it's fine…I don't mind it."

And with that they returned to their silence, Erik driving too fast for either of their safety and Christine intensely scrolling through airport websites, Bing Crosby steadily crooning on in the background.

_Booked…booked…booked…booked…_

"Huh, ironic, isn't it?"

Christine looked up from her phone. "What?"

"The song." Erik gestured to the radio.

It was the opening lyrics of Home for the Holidays. Christine allowed herself a single, forced huff of a laugh. Ironic indeed. She was so far away from home, so far away from where she needed to be- yet at the same she was so close to being home with mama. So close! A few hours at most; a car ride and one more flight was all she had left. She sighed. It was still a lot of obstacles to overcome, and this song was the icing on top of it all. But Perry Como didn't know her stress, the radio provider didn't realize just how badly she longed for that sentence to be true. Her forced laugh turned into something that sounded like a chuckle to her ears, before letting her lips break out into a grin.

"Is something funny?" Erik asked, tilting his head her direction, but keeping his eyes on the highway ahead of him.

Christine shrugged.

"No, I mean…I don't know. Maybe? Ah…" she clicked her phone off and set it in her lap before pushing a part of her hair behind her ear. "I've just spent so long in an airport these past two days, and now," she gave a little laugh, "now I'm here in a car with some guy I've never met—"

"I have a name, thank you," he snipped, but she could see the curl of the side of his lips that went along with what he said.

"Ok…so somewhat met, who's driving way faster than he should, on my way to get dropped off somewhere in Pennsylvania to hopefully get on a plane to New York all to get home for Christmas."

Christine shook her head. Her life sounded more like a bad movie than reality at the moment.

Erik tsked his tongue. "Doesn't sound funny to me."

And there went her mood. Again.

She rolled her eyes and turned back to her phone. Despite her circumstances, the song had managed to lift her spirits somewhat. She was going to find a flight with seats on it that hadn't been cancelled. She was sure of it. She could feel it!

"For the holidays, you can't beat home sweet home…" she found herself singing along with the ending of the song even though her mind was focused on the screen in front of her. Then the next song came on, and she found that she quite liked it too (and happened to know the lyrics), and the same with the next song, and the next song. She had missed singing Christmas songs. She hardly had time to slow down and acknowledge the Christmas season back in L.A., Christmas songs just didn't have a spot in her busy agenda. They were a thing of the past, something she would enjoy doing in her childhood- not now. But, singing along brought a lightness to her heart that she _needed_. Her day had been awful, but the Christmas music was making it better. It was slight, but an improvement in her spirits none the less.

Her breath hitched as the car lurched forward as Erik hit the brake too hard.

Christine stopped singing and realized they had reached a red light. She turned to rebuke him for his terrible braking skills, but the words died in her mouth when she noticed the way he was half gaping at her, his eyes wider, and his jaw open just a bit.

She raised an eyebrow. "What? Is there something in my hair?" he hand instinctively reached up to pat her head to make sure nothing was there.

"No, no…" he murmured, shaking his head and refocusing on the road in front of him.

Christine mumbled a quiet 'ok' and went back to staring at the phone in her lap. The airport website search had been traded for Instagram as she began scrolling once more—

"You…um…you have a voice."

Christine looked at him again.

"Um…yeah, I would hope so. I couldn't talk otherwise, " she said.

_'I couldn't talk otherwise'? You sound so stupid sometimes, Christine…_

"No! That's not how I meant it to come out. I meant to say that you have a really nice singing voice," he said all at once in a quick burst.

"Oh," Christine said, a bit taken aback. She hadn't realized he'd even been listening. Did he actually mean what he said, or had he really run out of things to talk about? "Thank you."

"It's not perfect by any means, but it's got…potential. _Actual_ potential." With that he looked over to her again, his eyes a bit brighter than they were before.

Christine could do nothing but sit there with her eyebrows scrunched together. Could he just make up his mind? Did he like her voice or not?

"Thank you?" she said, her voice going up at the end.

Erik blinked, then again like coming out of a fog.

"I didn't mean to make feel uncomfortable. Or insult you- sorry, I just don't hear many voices that I think are genuinely good."

Well at least she had an answer to that question.

"So you hear bad voices on regular I guess?"

"I teach music at a college, and I'll be the first to say that not everyone in that program is accepted on talent alone," he chuckled to himself a bit darkly.

Christine nervously laughed along with him, his confession to her still fresh on her mind. It had been a long time since someone had told her that she had a nice voice. Singers were dime a dozen in L.A. and she certainly wasn't anything special. That's why she had a sensible job. A receptionist at a small law firm. Was it ideal? No. But it paid the bills and at the end of the day that was all that mattered.

"A professor, huh?" she said, still deciphering his compliments.

He nodded and tapped his thumbs on the wheel.

"Hmm, I wouldn't have guessed that with the mask and all—"

"Really?" he suddenly whipped his head toward her, the softness in his eyes replaced with a twinge of fury. "And what else would you assume I do, Ms. Daaé, _with my mask_? A spy? A murderer?" his voice raised with each word, as he sat up straighter in his seat looming over her like a predator after its prey. Christine sunk back into her seat, heat rising rapidly to her cheeks as he spoke. She had hit a nerve she hadn't meant to hit.

_Mental note, don't mention the mask…._

"That's enough! I'm sorry I mentioned it, I, I was curious that's all…" she stammered, feeling like a turtle hiding in its shell after he raised his voice at her.

He cleared his throat and gave the steering wheel a squeeze.

"It's for medical reasons if you must know," he said, eyes squirming between her and the traffic light in front of them.

Christine didn't react and instead continued staring out her window, still put off by his sudden temper. Men were so _touchy_. She heard Erik sigh and turn off the radio. It was going to be a long drive to Pennsylvania.

The light turned green.


	3. Chapter 3

Christine groggily blinked her eyes open at the sudden lack of vibration as she felt and heard the engine of the car shut off.

"Why did we stop?" she asked, arching her back under the seatbelt trying to stretch.

"I pulled over," Erik said hastily.

"Why? Is something wrong?" She sat up straighter in the seat, her mind already spinning through a hundred different emergencies. She knew riding with him had been a bad idea. "Did the tire blowout?"

_Of course the tire isn't flat, you would've felt that, dingus!_

Erik shot her a look before shaking his head. "I was swerving…a little," he admitted under his breath.

Christine smirked and turned to face him. "Swerving? What happened to Mister 'I don't need sleep'?"

Christine laughed a little as she remembered their earlier conversation. She could tell that his eyes had been getting droopy, though she didn't dare mention anything involving his face after his reaction to her mention of his mask. He had swerved just slightly into the other lane, and Christine simply couldn't pass up the chance to poke at his driving skills again. After a few minutes she had even offered a civil trade off: that she would drive for a while and he could sleep in the passenger seat! That offer had proved to be another mistake as he had snapped back that he 'didn't need sleep', and that he could go 'days without sleep'.

A part of her felt like asking just how many days he'd gone without sleep before this trip.

Erik gave a 'hmph' and reached behind her to the back seat to grab something. Christine took the time to let her eyes focus on things outside of the car, surprised to see that they weren't just pulled over on the side of the highway like Christine half expected they were. Instead they were parked in front of a long, two story building. The beige paint was peeling off the sides a bit, and the sidewalk in front of the building looked like it had seen it's fair share of literal elephants at the size of some of the cracks and potholes.

"Where are we?" she yawned, continuing to survey her surroundings by the light of the car's headlights.

"Where do you think we are? It's a motel," Erik explained as if she were blind, unbuckling his seatbelt.

_A motel?_

"Wha— where are you going?" she was alert, looking at him now instead of the run-down structure in front of her.

He paused and stared at her for a moment before answering. "It's a motel," he stated. "I'm picking up my dry cleaning." Sarcasm dripped from his voice.

Christine crossed her arms.

"I'm seeing if there's any rooms available, what else would I be doing?"

She raised an eyebrow. "You really think after so many hours in a car with you— I'm going to share a room with you too?"

He sighed, fixing the hat he had grabbed from the backseat onto his head. "I never said I was getting a room for _us_ …."

For some reason, that made Christine madder than the idea of him assuming she'd share a room with him.

"So I can guess you can stay in the car. You can recline the seat—"

"No, I'm coming in with you!" she declared, quickly unfastening her seatbelt as well.

Christine watched Erik roll his eyes as he opened the car door before opening her own door and getting out. Her joints cracked a bit in protest as she stood up, but her legs were so glad to have a chance to stretch after so many hours of sitting. She raised up on her tip toes and stretched her palms out in front of her— it felt so nice! She reached in and grabbed her purse before shutting the door.

"I never realized how badly I missed standing," Christine chuckled as she walked around to his side of the car. Erik had shut the driver side door but opened the backseat door, currently digging around for something. Finally, he pulled out of the car holding two of his suitcases from earlier.

And his mask was different.

Instead of his black mask he'd worn all day he was wearing something akin to a flesh tone. It blended in quite well, but she could tell.

_Don't mention the mask, don't mention the mask…._

So she mentioned the next thing she could think of instead.

"Can't you just leave those suitcases in there?" Christine spoke up, zipping her coat up.

Erik shook his head and slammed the car door shut. "I told you, precious cargo. I can't afford to leave them out in this car where they could get stolen. They're coming inside."

Christine gave him a suspicious side eye. He had told her he was a music professor, so her earlier musings of him being some hardened criminal had left her mind, but they were slowly making a reappearance at his sudden need to take in the suitcases.

"Whatever, as long as it's not a bomb," she muttered under her breath, following him towards the entrance of the hotel lobby.

"What'd you say?" he turned his head around to look at her from over his shoulder.

"Hmm?" Christine raised her eyebrows. "Nothing!" she said, an innocent smile planted on her face.

Erik squinted his eyes again— he did that a lot she noted — and then continued walking. It was a simple glass door with a generic motel name and a generic motto underneath, certainly nothing that caught her eye. What did, however, catch her eye was how Erik opened the door, and then _held it open for her_. Her eyebrows crinkled at his action. Where had his manners come from? She hadn't had a door held open for her in…well, she couldn't remember when. The point was, she didn't make it a point to wait for the men in her life to open the doors for her, she was perfectly capable of opening them herself. Both physically and metaphorically.

But she didn't feel the need to tell him that. Didn't feel like questioning his motives or putting up a fight. Instead she just gave a nod.

"Thanks," she mumbled after they were both through the door.

The tile floor was due for a good mop, and the fluorescent light above them was flickering every few seconds. Christine held her hand up to shield her eyes, not yet ready for the bright light.

"Good evening! Do you have a reservation?" a voice greeted them from behind the wooden counter on the other end of the small room. Christine looked over at him. He a was a short, balding man with a grey mustache that was in need of a trim up.

Erik walked closer to the desk and she followed.

" _No, I need to make one— do you have any vacancies_?"

Christine almost did a double take. The voice that was coming out of him was different. Well, different wasn't the right word exactly. Perhaps his tone was what had changed? No matter, she found herself hanging on to every last word, unlike she had in the car.

She could see that the man behind the counter also seemed to give Erik his full attention.

How strange….

_Oh, you're just tired, Chris, it's probably his version of a customer service voice._

Her thoughts appeased her wandering imagination for a moment, but a part of her wasn't sold on her mind's explanation of her sudden need to listen to him talk.

"Yes," the man answered. "You're just in luck— we have one room open."

_Plop!_

"Sorry," Christine said, bending down to pick up her purse that she had dropped at the man's statement.

One room? If she hadn't been in a bad movie before, now she definitely was.

"One room?" Erik repeated, setting his suitcases down. "It has two beds, I assume?"

Christine nodded along with him, desperate for the man to say yes. Sharing a car had been bad enough, but sharing a room? And possibly a _bed?_

She shivered.

Surely this was all a bad dream and she was actually still happily asleep in the car, going 100 flipping miles down the free way with Zorro beside her driving.

"Hmm, let me check," the old man said, turning to the computer beside him.

The clicks on the keyboard certainly sounded real, and the room looked real…

She reached over and gave her arm a pinch.

" _Ow!_ "

Erik glared at her from over his shoulder at her yelp. She gave him a half smile and rubbed her arm.

Yup, she was awake.

"Well…according to this thing, there aren't any rooms available with two beds…" he said, staring at the screen over his reading glasses.

"Are you sure—" Erik started only to be cut off by the older man.

"It seems that the only room open is the Honeymoon suite on floor two."

The sudden need to throw up was very apparent.

The man looked up at them over his glasses. "That shouldn't be a problem for a fine looking couple like yourself?"

Christine snorted and Erik's eyes had gone wide.

First of all— _fine looking?_ Could the man not tell that Erik was wearing a mask? It was good, but not that good of a skin tone match.

Secondly— _couple?_ This was a cliché as her life could get, right? Stranded in an airport, lost luggage, riding in a car with a stranger only to end up at a hotel where the only room they had was the honeymoon suite?

Sleeping in the car was sounding better and better by the minute.

"Do you have any cots that could be brought up?" Christine said before Erik could get another word out.

"Afraid not, ma'am," was the answer out of the hotel clerk's mouth.

She grimaced.

"I can offer extra pillows and blankets though!"

Erik glanced in Christine's direction with an almost apologetic look before motioning for her to turn around a talk to him for a moment.

"We don't have to stay here, I can keep driving, really. I'll be awake from the shock for hours," he said, glaring over his shoulder.

"I'd prefer to be uncomfortable than dead on the side of the road because you fell asleep at the wheel," she said, sighing in defeat.

He was quiet for a second.

"You're sure?"

"Mhm."

"I'll sleep on the floor," he assured her before squeezing her shoulder and turning back around.

What had she gotten herself into?

"We'll take it."


	4. Chapter 4

The door creaked as she pushed it open after fiddling with the key in the lock. She felt around the cold wall until her hand hit the light switch and she flicked it on. A warm yellow light illuminated the room with a soft glow, unlike the harsh fluorescent light of the lobby. She continued into the room, letting her purse drop on to the centerpiece of the room: the king size bed.

"Well," she started, brushing a bit of dust off of the lamp shade on the night stand. "I guess it could be worse. At least there's not cockroaches, right?"

Erik closed the door behind them before setting his luggage in the chair in the corner. "You haven't checked for bed bugs yet, I'd be more concerned if I were you," he countered, a frustrated tone still lacing his voice.

She tensed for a minute before giving a little laugh. _Pft…bed bugs…how silly…_

Still, she lifted the corner of the mattress anyway, _just_ in case.

"Well," she sighed, turning around to face Erik.

"Well?" he parroted, slipping his coat off his shoulders as he took a step closer to her.

Christine stopped. What was she going to say? What was she _supposed_ to say? She inhaled a shaky breath before matching his gaze. "Um, I need to go to the bathroom," she abruptly stated.

He blinked.

"By all means, don't let me stop you," he said, his left arm outstretched to the door of the bathroom.

Her eyes widened in embarrassment. Why was she such an idiot!

"I don't know why I said that out loud— I'm so sorry," she quickly said, reaching for her purse. She unzipped it and rummaged through it, looking for her toothbrush. Not there. Her head drooped. _Of course._

_Christine Daaé: 0_

_Missing Suitcase: 2_

"Missing something?" the ever observant man in the corner spoke up.

Christine pursed her lips and zipped her bag back up before flinging it back on the bed.

"Toothbrush," she grumbled as she walked towards the bathroom door.

"Hmm, there seems to be a theme here. First your phone cord, now your toothbrush—sounds like your handbag has an appetite for small, useful things—"

With that she closed the bathroom door. Slammed might be the better word, but closed was the intention. To think, a part of her had started to think that sharing a room for a few hours wouldn't be a bad thing. He had been sweet in the lobby— all right, sweet was an over exaggeration, but he at least hadn't been snappy!

She flushed the toilet after she was done and stood up to wash her hands. She flinched as she looked in the mirror.

_Ugh, I'm a mess._

Her hair was frazzled and the mascara she had been wearing had imprinted a nice black smudge underneath both of her eyes, probably from where she had fallen asleep in the car. She took her face in her hands and pulled down and then up on her cheeks. She needed a shower… _badly_.

She reached for the door handle to lock it, pushing in the lock button. It popped back out. Again. Same reaction. Great, not even the bathroom door would lock; she might as well shower with the door wide open at this rate! She groaned before looking for towels and finding two under the sink. Her rationality told her to tell Erik she was getting a shower so he wouldn't worry why she was in there so long or just in case he should try and open the door. She reached out to twist the handle— she stopped. She didn't need to say anything. Surely he would hear the water from the shower and that would be warning enough for him not to open the door.

Her hand dropped from the handle.

With a nod, she snatched the sample size shampoo, conditioner and body wash off the sink and set them on the rim of the tub. She also placed the two towels on top of the toilet lid so she could easily reach them coming out of the shower. She flipped the faucet on. She stuck her hand under the running water to test the temperature only to jerk it back out. _Too cold_. She turned the handle towards the red half of the semi circle and let it warm up while she took her clothes off and put them in the corner before pulling out the handle to make the water come out of the shower head.

"Ahh…" she sighed as she stepped under the warm water, already feeling her muscles relax.

She let the water relax her as she reached for the shampoo and started rubbing at her hair. How strange could her life get? Showering in a hotel bathroom at nearly 2:30 in the morning had not been on her agenda, but like so many other situations she had been in that day, she had no other choice. It would be so nice when she finally got home to Mama. She could see her now...chastising her for not calling her and telling her she was coming, but then she'd smile and give her a hug and invite her driver in for dinner—

She stopped her musings right there.

No, that wouldn't be the case, she was being dropped off at an airport somewhere in Pennsylvania, Erik wouldn't even be with her in New York. She shook her head, refocusing her imaginations to the stories she knew Mama would retell as she did every Christmas. Stories of peace, and fairies, and angels…

Then she heard it. The gentle strains of a song flowing from a violin seemingly surrounding her from every angle, embracing her in a blanket of security. She bowed her head and felt her chest cave as the music continued. Where was it coming from? Her eyes flickered to look up above but then she brushed away that thought as quickly as it had come. Angels didn't play music in hotel bathrooms. Besides, the entire thought was just…absurd. Yet—

She shut off the water. The music still continued. A hand raised to rest atop her heart, but she didn't move to get out of the shower. What if her moving disturbed this heavenly music? Her hand slid back down to her side as a worse thought crossed her mind.

What if there wasn't any music at all? What if it was all just her sleep deprived, stressed out imagination trying to offer her some form of comfort?

"No," she murmured, raising her head.

But then.

 _Then_.

A voice joined the strings. Her hand reached out for the handle in the tub to balance herself as she felt her knees give out. If there was any doubt before that the music she heard came from heaven itself, now there was none. Had she ever heard a voice so rich? So utterly heart stopping?

But the voice left as soon as it had come, and only the violin remained.

The music floated, and though it was only one violin her ears heard, her imagination told her it was a whole symphony that flooded her senses. Slowly, quietly, she pushed the curtain away and stepped out of the shower. She sighed in relief when the angelic music kept playing. She could hear clearly now that the water wasn't running that the music was loudest at the door— all she had to do was open it. Absentminded hands reached for the towel still on top of the toilet before wrapping herself in it, her mind still on the strings of the violin. With her eyes fixed ahead of her, she turned the knob slowly as she peered through the door before her feet carried her out of the bathroom without her full command.

There was her answer.

Back towards her and violin propped under his chin was none other than a man.

_Erik._

Her mouth parted as she stared, rooted to the ground she stood on. She stood in awe for a moment longer then her mind took control of her actions and she began idly singing along. There were no words to the tune she sung, just syllables that felt right with the magic of the violin. Her voice crept higher as she began to walk towards him. She was now at the heels of his shoes, her notes blending with the weeping of the strings—

The music stopped.

Christine let her voice linger for a moment more before pulling it back and then gulping her next note down when the man in front of her quickly turned to face her, the violin dropping from his chin to his left side.

Stammered breathing was the only sound the silence had to offer.

"That was beautiful…" she whispered, her lips barely moving…her face upturned to him in awe…her mind still entranced by the music still ringing in her ears.

"Vivaldi…" was the answer of thanks she received from him after a pause, his eyes locked on hers.

"Oh?" she breathed, her chest leaning towards him.

Time seemed to fall into slow motion as he brought a finger under her chin to tip it up, his own face leaning down. Christine allowed her neck to reach for him, her lips begging for permission to brush against his own, those lips that had brought forth the most mesmerizing sound she'd ever heard. And maybe — just maybe— he was imitating her own actions. It was a centimeter, nothing more, nothing less. All she had to do was close the distance—

He backed away suddenly, turning his face from her.

"Oh my god, you're in a bath towel."

And the illusion broke.

Christine gasped as she clutched the towel tighter around herself. How had she not realized how scantily clad she was? The fact that she had thought of the towel at all was comforting at the very least— but just a towel? Where were her morals?

"I—" What was she supposed to say? _Sorry for interrupting your practice session, your voice makes my ovaries explode and clothes were the last thing on my mind?_

Instead she just turned around and went back into the bathroom, closing the door behind her. Her breaths were heavy as she put all her weight against the door and slid to the floor. What the hell had just come over her? The water from her soaked hair dripped on to the floor with a steady rhythm. She loosened the grip on her towel.

_Relax, Chris, breathe….it's not like you actually kissed him…or wanted to. Caught up in the music, that was all, that was all…_

But what if she wasn't. What if she wasn't caught up in the music, what if she _had_ wanted to kiss him, what if—

What if. That was all it was. If _._ _Nothing happened, nothing is going to happen. You're going to stand up and put on your clothes and act like none of that ever happened—_

"Okay," she exhaled in response to her own command. One foot, then the other, she stood and let the towel drop to the tile floor. She looked to her clothes with disdain. This would be the third day in a row in the same pair of clothes, she had left her house in these clothes. Why did her stupid luggage have to get lost! She picked the towel back up and patted herself dry before redressing herself. She looked in the mirror.

Her mascara had washed off in the shower and now left a grey streak down both of her cheeks as her blonde hair, now brown from the water, hung stringy from her scalp.

_No wonder he turned away, you look like the clown from 'It'._

She ripped off some toilet paper and wiped away her makeup before reaching for another towel under the sink to dry her hair. Sufficiently dressed with her hair wrapped in a little makeshift towel turban, she glanced at the door. Could she really go back out there after what had just almost happened? Embarrassment riddled her thoughts more than anything at the idea of him bringing it up.

She took a deep breath and opened the door.

Erik was sitting in the chair, his suitcases now neatly stacked on the floor beside him. The violin was still in his one hand, the other hand adeptly turning the tuning knob.

She chewed on her bottom lip.

"So..." Why did she never know what to say? What gene in her cut off her social skills the second she needed them? "…you play the violin."

Erik's eyes slowly raised to look at her, stared for a moment, then trailed back down to the instrument he held. "Yes."

Christine sniffed and sat on the corner of the bed, at a diagonal from Erik.

"Is that your violin?" she asked, lacking anything else to say or at the very least, anything she had the courage to say.

"No."

"Oh." Thoughts of him being a criminal snuck back into her mind, but she pushed them back out, _forced_ them back out.

"I'm in the process of making a sale, but my appraiser lives in Pennsylvania so that's where I have to go," Erik explained as he lowered the violin to lean against his lap.

"A sale?" she asked, eyebrow raised.

He shrugged. "I collect antique violins and when the right one comes along I keep it, but for the most part, well…" another shrug, "I restore them and then I sell them. Easy money if you find the right buyer."

Christine shifted on the bed. "I thought you were a professor?"

"I am, but…well, I'm sure you know how it is. Teachers don't exactly make the best salaries...no sum of money is ever quite enough…"

She nodded solemnly.

He picked the violin up out of his lap and set it in the case that was inside of one of the suitcases on the floor. After closing the casing, he set it aside and unlatched the second suitcase, lingering above it before slowly revealing what was inside. He spoke with all the excitement of a little boy who had just learned to tie his shoe as he slowly looked at her.

"This one though, this one is the real beauty."

She had to stop herself from audibly gasping.


	5. Chapter 5

It couldn't be.

She would know it anywhere, the memory of its image forever grained into her mind; the sound forever ringing in her ears. But how? How could this violin in the hands of this man be her father's sole treasured possession? It was impossible. If this was truly her father's violin she would _know_. Surely there would be some feeling inside that would awaken her senses and illuminate the violin in a glowing light signifying from the heavens that this was _the_ violin. Her father's violin. But there wasn't. No ethereal glow, no angel choir, _nothing_ except the tugging feeling in her gut at the sight of it in Erik's hands. The answer was clear:

It couldn't be.

"It's practically ancient— I don't even want to try guessing how old it is— and the tone is like no other string instrument I've heard before. It's…it's just… _amazing,_ " he finished in awe, holding it with all the care of a newborn babe.

Of course it was ancient, her great-great-grandfather had carved it and her father took care of it better than he ever took care of himself, or her for that matter. It was the only connection to his past he had in the world. If she closed her eyes she could still see him seated in the ratty rust-colored recliner beside the window of their one bedroom apartment playing out the strains of old Swedish folk lullabies that had swayed her to sleep in her childhood. She remembered the small case of rosin he faithfully carried everywhere he went in the front pocket of the tattered brown carrying case…

But no, this couldn't be her father's violin.

No, she vividly remembered the night she sat on his lap, pocket knife in his hand, with her hand on top of his, as they carved their last name in the bottom left corner on the back of the prized violin.

She cocked her head to the side to get a better view around the side of the violin but couldn't quite tell as Erik's hand was holding the violin right where the letters that would confirm her suspicions laid. Or at least _might_ lay. Oh, she was being ridiculous. There was no way this was the violin that belonged to her late father, it just happened to look a great deal like it. Come to think of it, the color of the wood was a bit too polished and a bit too reddish to truly be hers.

No, this couldn't be it. _Couldn't_.

"Of course, I won't know until I get it appraised, but hopefully I'll know in the next few hours when we get to Pennsylvania…"

_Click._

She blinked and brought herself out of her memories just in time to see him give a faint smile as the violin case closed.

"Yeah…yeah…" she said quietly, her focus still on the case that now sat closed in front of her.

She had wasted time and now she would never know what it said on the back! Her father's violin so close in her grasp yet so far away! Then again, she didn't truly know if it was her father's. After all— the odds that this man, whom she happened upon coincidence to get a ride with, would have it in his possession were slim to none. It was foolish- outlandish!

_Say something, Christine, say something or else you never will. Just ask to see it again…ask to hear it played— anything! Tell him it was your father's! Really— anything! Just say something—_

"Christine? Are you all right?"

"Huh?" she nearly gasped, startled out of her self-deliberation.

His eyes narrowed and she imagined a perfectly raised eyebrow beneath the black mask (he had changed out of the disturbing flesh colored one while she was in the shower thankfully) waiting for her to answer. She was unsure if she was more preoccupied by the violin a few feet away from her or the fact that he hadn't called her by her first name all evening— or all day really if she took the time to think about it. She blinked, put away her wonderings, and then answered him.

"Oh, yeah um…" _tell him it's yours._ "It's very nice," she swallowed as she pushed her conscience's orders to the back of her mind.

What was she doing? She was letting it slip away!

Erik's eyes remained on her, unconvinced by her excuse of an answer. She couldn't see his face, but his eyes said all she needed to know. She was a coward and if she didn't say something now she never would—

"My," another swallow, "my father used to have one very… _similar_ to that one, that's all," she said sheepishly, not meeting his eyes.

"Really?" he said, moving both cases to sit atop the dresser with the small TV rather than the floor. "Your father had one like it? Do you have his number on you? Maybe I could be able to get ahold of him and get a second opinion on it— or maybe he'd be interested in buying! I was thinking of keeping this one, honestly, but I could part with it if it was to the right person…"

She could already feel the tears inching closer and closer to the corners of her eyes. Telling him had been a mistake, why did she put herself through this? And for what? A relic from her past life? But it wasn't a relic, it was sentimental and every good memory she had of her father involved that violin. But there was no way he could have it, no possible way! And now she had been reminded of her father and—

"Used to _,"_ she re-stated through gritted teeth. "He…he passed away a few years ago."

The tears were burning behind her eyes now, scraping and clawing their way out of her tear ducts. She couldn't cry in front of him, especially not over this. She turned away from him right as she felt the first hot tear singe its way down her cheek. She frustratedly wiped at her eyes, already feeling a familiar warmth beneath her cheeks as another tear escaped.

A hand rested gently on her shoulder, its pressure so light that she wouldn't have noticed it was there if not for the gentle voice that accompanied it.

" _Hey_ ," he said softly, voice as deep as the oceans her father used to take her to visit and as calming as the breeze that would blow through her curls as her father whispered tales older than the sand, " _it's_ _okay_ …" he trailed off, but his hand remained there on her shoulder.

Christine wanted to shake her head, wanted to tell him that it was not okay and that her father had been the most important thing in the world to her and that _had_ to be his violin and that it had hurt horribly when he asked for his number and that she can never call her father again or hear his voice or see his face or hear him play—

But she didn't.

She couldn't.

His voice…it caressed her. It was like someone had wrapped their arms around her and laid her in a field of warm, plush pillows. How could she disagree with a voice like that? She was okay, yeah, she'd be okay…

She turned slowly, her own hand reaching across to keep Erik's on her shoulder as her eyes panned up to look him in the eyes.

She nodded instead.

"It's fine," she mumbled, "you didn't know…" a forced laugh, "I mean— how could you? You don't even know me! It's a mistake, obviously, not your fault, it's my own fault for not saying anything and—"

"Hey, hey, hey," he stopped her, a slight laugh to his voice. "You don't need to make excuses, I shouldn't have said anything."

Why was he being so nice?

It was pity, had to be. He'd been rude all day and now he'd made her cry because she pulled out the dead dad card and if things weren't awkward enough already…well, now she'd gone and blown it out of proportions. Gosh, why couldn't anything eloquent come out of her mouth? Everything that he said was like well rehearsed lines full of meaning and she was nothing more than the idiot who hadn't studied her lines until ten minutes before—

What was she even talking about?

Her eyes glanced at the digital alarm clock on the tiny wooden nightstand across from her.

2:39 blinked back at her in bright neon red lights, taunting her with every flash. Her eyes burned with the desire to just close them and go to sleep, but she knew that was impossible with the mystery that faced her a few feet away. How could she possibly sleep now?

"I'm sorry," she said, casting her eyes at the ground.

The hand that held hers at her shoulder disappeared but reappeared a moment later underneath her chin, tipping her face back up to look at him.

" _Tears should never be apologized for_."

And there it was. The _voice._

She had heard it before a few seconds ago when he had told her that she was okay and before that when she was in the shower and even before that when they were downstairs in the lobby when he had spoke to the receptionist. It was… _otherworldly_ , that was the only phrase that could even begin to describe it. Soft yet commanding; firm yet irresistible.

That was the word she was looking for.

_Irresistible._

God, she could swim in the resonance of it.

 _Wanted_ to swim in the resonance of it.

The next few moments were a blur of soft hands underneath her eyes, smooth waves of whispered reassurances from _it,_ and the cold leather of his mask against her forehead.

What was she worried about again?

If she just surrendered to the sound then there was nothing to worry about. There was just her and the coolness against her face and the sound of…. _warmth_ …

She'd jump off a cliff if _it_ asked her to.

" _Christine…"_

She had never heard her name said before with such tenderness, it was overwhelming and the tears were shed quicker now and she had no way to stop them. It was as if someone had turned on a switch but broke the lever that turned it off. The softness moved from her face and instead wrapped around her back, pulling her snug to his chest.

"Hey, don't cry, I'm sorry that I upset you. We can talk of other things or- or nothing at all," the voice was gone, yet it was still there in the corners of his voice. Just a hint in the back crevices of her mind.

Oh.

_Oh._

The _voice_ wasn't its own separate entity at all.

 _Erik_ was the voice.

She loosened herself from his grasp just enough to look up at his face, still hidden behind the black leather. The same mask that had just been pressed to her forehead. The same mask that hid him from her.

"That was you…" she whispered, more to herself than him.

His left hand had let go of her back to swipe away the tears that rolled down her cheeks and onto her sweater.

"What?" he murmured back, his hand hovering over her cheek for a moment.

Christine's eyes followed his hand as he let it drop from her cheek, wishing that he had let it stay there. "That _voice_ , I heard it earlier downstairs and then again…just now. That's _you_ , the voice belongs to you."

She watched his eyes widen just slightly— they usually seemed to narrow, she had yet to see them widen at something she had said— at her words. But then he loosened his grip on her and burst out into laughter.

"The _voice?_ Christine, I've done nothing but talk using the same voice I've used all day," another laugh and he let his hand rest on the side of her arm. "I think you should go to bed."

She stared.

"No, I'm serious, I—" but she stopped.

Maybe she was just tired and making things up. An old wound had been ripped wide open and he had been the only source of comfort in the room, it was completely logical that she had imagined the whole thing. But if she thought back to the _occurrence_ — she had been doing her best to forget about it— when he had played his violin, when he had sung, when they had almost… _kissed_ …she remembered the voice being there too and could hear it now, whispering in the back of her mind.

_Vivaldi…_

It was the fatigue, had to be.

She swiped the side of her sleeve underneath her eyes to dry any remaining tears that had lingered on her face and let her head hang down.

"Yeah," she muttered, sniffling.

"You're just tired, we both are, it has been a long day," he said turning away from her. "I'm going to call down to the front desk to see if they have any extra pillows left— are you cold? Do you think you'll need more blankets?"

She stared after him, waiting for him to turn and look at her for an answer. How did she never notice the way his shoulder blades poked the backside of his shirt, or how loosely the sleeves hung off his thin shoulders? She hadn't thought to look she supposed, nor had she really any cause to stare at his backside before now. Her eyes travelled down, her own shirt sleeve lingering by her mouth. She could see from where she was that the back of his pants were a bit tighter—

He looked back at her.

She shook her head 'no'.

"Well, if you're sure…" he trailed off, reaching for the landline phone on the nightstand, turning his back to her once more, allowing her ample opportunity to stare.

She blushed.

* * *

"I can't believe they don't have any extra pillows— what kind of hotel doesn't have extra pillows?" he huffed again as he took another lap around the room.

"The kind that doesn't have anymore vacancies… _duh_ ," she added the last bit under her breath.

The pacing stopped.

She didn't need to look up from her phone from where she sat under the covers to tell her he was glaring at her, eyes narrowed beneath the mask. She could _feel_ it.

For not knowing him for much longer than 12 hours, he was actually _very_ predictable.

"How about we switch our arrangements?" she offered, peering at him over the brim of her glasses (which she had pulled out of her purse to aid the headache that was coming on from staring at her phone all day without them).

He shook his head. "No, I already promised you, and I will be fine on the chair, it's just…uncomfortable that's all," the last part was a bit quieter as if he'd been ashamed to admit it, but she heard it nonetheless.

She set down her phone and began to move the covers off the top of her—

"Christine, stop, I will be fine."

"No, you're the one driving and you need sleep. If you can't go to sleep on the chair then sleep in the bed. I can sleep in the car when we get back on the road."

"No, get back in bed," he snapped at her.

She reclined back in shock.

To think, he was being so nice too…

 _Men and their mood swings..._ she thought to herself, pulling the cover back over her lap.

"I'll just…make do, I've had worse," he said, lifting his head out of his hands.

He was so tired, she could see it in the way he held his body. Eyes that seemed as though they'd seen a hundred years looked back at her, his shoulders hunched making his tall frame seem weary rather than it's usual imposing. Honestly, she wouldn't want to sleep in the chair either. She had sat in it earlier and at least two of the springs were broken and the arms were quite hard, not to mention the upholstery of the fabric was not soft at all. She much preferred the bed where she currently was under the weighted white blankets and sheets and the pillows beneath her head. But…she wasn't the one who had just drove for nearly nine hours without a break, and she _had_ taken a few cat naps in the car.

Her eyebrows perked up as an idea crossed her mind.

_No, he'd never go for it…it's worth a shot though…but it's crazy and inappropriate and he won't go for it at all…but he might…_

"What if we both slept in the bed?"

A pin could've dropped.

_"_ _What?"_


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here is the next chapter, not sure when the next update on this will be but hopefully not too long! Now I'm all caught up posting this one from FFN!

"What?"

She stopped for a moment, caught off guard by his sudden answer.

 _Don't give up yet, try again, subtly this time, Christine. Subtly._ "I know it's ridiculous, but I think it's a good idea especially with our situation—"

"No—"

"But—"

_"I said no."_

_It_ was back.

'Same voice' her ass.

She pursed her lips. She watched as he shook his head and slumped back in the chair, eyes shut. She tsked her tongue at the same time that he let out a frustrated huff. He may have been on her nerves all day, but she had to admit a small part of her was concerned for him. Well, maybe not for _him_. If not for him personally then at least for the safety of _herself_ during the rest of the car ride. With that thought, she reached over and flipped down the other side of the duvet before giving the sheet underneath it a good pat.

"Come on," she invited him, giving the pillow next to her a fluff.

No reaction.

"Erik."

Nothing.

"I promise I don't smell _that_ bad."

The slightest bit of an upward curve to the corner of his lips.

_Victory._

"It's getting cold over here—"

"Then pull the cover back up," he answered, finally opening his eyes and rolling his head to look at her. " _Duh_."

All right, she had to admit, that earned him a small smile.

"C'mon, look, I'll even make a divider," with that she got out of the bed and pulled open the bottom drawer of the nightstand that held an extra blanket. She tossed the dark green fleece onto the bed before crumpling it up until it made a nice straight-ish line down the center of the bed. "There, now it's like two separate beds—"

"Are you really that willing to share a bed with me?" he cut her off, his voice a shocked whisper.

It caught her off guard.

"Yes. Well, I mean, um, not in _that_ way…um, uh…" S _top blubbering!_ "Yeah."

Another minute of silence passed between them, Christine standing next to the bed, unsure of her next move and Erik, eyes focused on her but still seated in the chair.

His lips pursed for a moment and then he exhaled sharply.

"Alright."

He gave the arms of the chair a pat and then stood up, rolling his head to one side and then the other.

 _Alright?_ That was it? All it took was her making a silly blanket divider and her agreeing to him sharing the bed— which was her idea in the first place. He really wasn't going to put up any more of a fight? She eyed him suspiciously as he toed off his shoes and then cautiously drew back the covers on the other side of the bed.

"What? Changed your mind already?"

She shook her head, relaxing her face so her eyebrows were no longer scrunched together in thought. He was so strange sometimes. She removed her glasses and set them next to her purse on the nightstand before crawling into bed beside him, the blanket soft between them.

"Sorry there isn't much room on your half," she mumbled, fixing the cover around herself.

He stared up at the ceiling, his whole body very still. Had he never been in a bed with anyone else before? Or had she just made the situation _that_ awkward? Maybe she should've stayed in the car, that would've prevented this whole past hour—

"It's alright, these beds aren't exactly made to be split in half. Not your fault."

She smirked but no laughter came. How could she laugh? It was kind of sad in its own way. Why should she be the reason he feels so uncomfortable? _Was_ she the reason? Maybe she was reading too much into this. He was probably just anxious to get back on the road and too wired to sleep. After all, didn't he have a deadline or something for a meeting?

_Oh yeah…for the violin appraiser guy…_

She tensed and tried not to let her turmoil show on her face. She needed to stop thinking about the blasted violin. It was not her father's violin and that was that. Mere coincidence. That. Was. _It_. Her conscience mocked her with the other possibility but she pushed the voice deep inside. It couldn't be the same one because…well…no. It couldn't be. She couldn't bear it if it was.

Great, now how was she going to sleep? There was too much to think about, too much to dwell on! And the man beside her lying awake certainly wasn't helping. Why had he allowed her to come with him and put up with her this entire time? He had yet to provide any further evidence of being a serial killer, and even if he was she couldn't exactly claim she was kidnapped, she _had_ asked to come along after all. No…something was just…off. It had been ever since she had stepped out of the rental car and into the hotel just an hour or two earlier. No…maybe not that far in the past, more like when he opened the door for her? But then again, maybe that was just an illusion created by this _voice_ and really she was just imagining things. But surely he had to know the difference in his own voice, his own tone? Someone didn't have a skill like that and just not realize it.

Something was different, she just couldn't put her finger on exactly what…yet…

Maybe it would be best to wait to dwell on it all when she was back in the car with nothing else to do.

So instead she settled down further into the bed, her jeans wadding up under the bend of her knee and around her ankles, the denim creases digging into her skin. She wriggled on her side, the blanket that was scrunched between her and Erik too warm on the backside of her legs. She shifted up in the bed in an attempt to straighten out her jeans so that they wouldn't be _as_ uncomfortable. Why did her luggage have to be lost? What she wouldn't give for a pair of pajama pants right now. She could see the ones stuffed in the corner of her suitcase now. They were plush and soft…with polka dots and glitter drawstring. Just the thought of them made her jeans even more unbearable. She huffed and flipped her pillow over to the colder side as her tossing had made the side she was laying on much too warm for her liking. Why couldn't she just get comfortable? The cold side lasted for a moment or two before it too became too hot and she flipped the pillow again—

"Can you not just lay still?" Erik's frustrated voice interrupted her.

She propped herself up on her elbows and looked over at him. Oh she could feel the anger bubbling up, her tongue ready to strike—

But she held it in. Or maybe she didn't hold it in, but something within her did. Instead she scowled and whispered an annoyed "sorry" and laid back down.

She laid still alright. Stiff as a board out of pure spite. Why hadn't she lashed out at him? She had been fairly good at not cussing him out all day and there was the perfect chance and she didn't. She just…gave up? No…that wasn't like her, but still, she didn't fight back— why?

Another minute of silence passed.

"What is it? Why are you mad?" he snapped, his hands folded across his torso but his head turned toward her.

Oh, there it was. An opportunity to let it all out. What would happen if she started yelling? Or maybe just ignored him? Or—

"My jeans are uncomfortable and I can't sleep because of them."

"Ahh," was his only response.

Again with the calmness! This man could go from 0 to 100 back to 0 in a matter of seconds.

She drummed her fingers on the side of the bed. "And my pajamas are in my suitcase which—"

"Is missing," he finished for her, his eye still on her.

"Yeah," she muttered, turning her head back to look at the ceiling.

He took a long breath then exhaled louder than he usually did.

"I guess just take them off."

She gaped, slowly turning back to look at him.

"Excuse me?" she said, raising to sit.

He shrugged, his eyes following her. "There's a blanket between us. I'm tired, you are tired and it seems as if your pants are the only thing in the way of both of us sleeping so…take them off?"

All she could do was blink.

Ok, now she knew for sure she should have stayed in the car. What the hell? A grown man in the same as her asking her to take off her pants? She wasn't…wasn't…. _loose_. Did he really just expect her to take off her pants? Just so she could sleep comfortably—

She paused.

Had this been his train of thought when she'd asked him to get in the bed with her?

She brought a hand up to swipe away some baby hair and bit her tongue. She was gonna do it. What harm could _really_ come from her doing it? She nodded and unbuttoned her jeans—

"I don't think your wife would like it very much if she knew you were sleeping next to a woman without her pants on."

At that, he snorted.

She had never heard him laugh like that before.

With wide eyes she stared at him as his hands were covering his eyes as he laughed.

"What?" she insisted, twisting around to face him entirely.

He opened his mouth to talk but only laughed again.

She was catching on. "Oh, so no wife?"

He shook his head underneath his hands, his laughter quieting.

"So…I don't think your girlfriend would like it?"

He took a deep breath and let his hands fall from his face. A smirk still played on his lips, but his eyes rolled to look at her.

"Women don't generally trust men in masks."

"Oh."

There was silence.

She had to say, he had a point. Here they were in a _bed_ together and he still had yet to take it off. Wasn't it stuffy? She still wasn't sure if she really trusted him, even after all the time they'd spent together this very, very long day. But…maybe she did. It had been so long since anyone had comforted her like that, so long since someone gently wiped tears away from her eyes, so long—

"A boyfriend…?"

He scoffed.

"No, no boyfriend for me. For you?" he threw back, finally sitting up himself.

She pursed her lips and glanced away before shaking her head.

"Hm," was all he said before laying back down, facing away from her this time.

"Here, I won't look, you're safe."

She cracked a smile at that one. If she didn't do it now, she wasn't going to. In one fluid motion she swiped the pants off of her legs and let them sit in a crumpled up pile on the floor. Next she took off her glasses and laid them next to the nightstand on her side of the bed. Without a glance over her shoulder to make sure Erik hadn't turned over— he hadn't she knew he hadn't, she would've heard him — she switched off the lamp and quickly got under the covers, her legs now free of their rough confinement.

This wasn't so bad.

There was this thick blanket between them and if anything she felt safe on her side of the bed. Yeah, she felt calm and sleepy and if she closed her eyes maybe she would actually go to sleep now…

That is, until her stomach chose the perfect opportunity to grumble.

Erik hadn't moved so maybe he hadn't heard it. She kept still.

It did it again.

She groaned at the same time she felt Erik roll over.

"I am so sorry—"

"No I'm sorry, I didn't even stop for food did I?"

She thought for a moment. No, they hadn't stopped for food, at all.

"No, but it's ok, you had other things on your mind, it's fine, really…we'll just have to get breakfast somewhere," she brushed it off as she inwardly pleaded for her stomach not to growl again.

"Look, I'm sorry for this whole trip, I haven't really been…myself. I've just been stressed and…well…I'm sorry," Erik confessed as he laid on his back staring at the ceiling.

She was…shocked? Was this an apology, a _real_ apology?

"Oh." She wriggled under the covers. "I suppose I should apologize too. I've just been so focused on getting home…I may have left my manners at the airport— y'know?"

Back to silence. Always silence.

"Also…" he started, his voice softer than before. "I'm very sorry for earlier, I do not usually go around making people cry— well, at least not over their deceased parents— and I realize how sensitive of a topic that was of me to bring up and I feel really bad about it—"

"No, no, no, that was complete overreaction on my part. I…" where had her words gone? All day she had done a pretty great job but now she couldn't think of the right thing to say. "I haven't had a good cry in a while over it, I guess I was due one. You just happened to get the brunt of things, its my fault, really."

"You shouldn't apologize for emotions, it's…you don't have to hold it in just because you think I'm going to judge you if you cry…I mean…well, I don't know what I mean. I just should have never pulled out the violin in the first place, then you could've gotten a shower in peace and I wouldn't have tried to kiss—"

He stopped short.

Here it was, the topic she'd been avoiding the entire time they'd been here. Her mind had been replaying the moment over and over again, analyzing anything that could have rationalized it and the only thing she had gotten close to was _it_. The _Voice_. Which he claimed he didn't have.

She sat up in the bed.

"No, I'm glad you played the violin, it was…really good."

 _Really good?_ That was the best compliment she could come up with without revealing her pent up feelings? Pathetic. Truly pathetic. His playing was…was…astounding…his singing…otherworldly…how was she supposed to tell him that? How was she supposed to tell him that in the moment she had tried to kiss him just as much as he had tried to kiss her—

"Really good? That's it?" He started as he raised to sit as well, mirroring her across the bed.

"No, wait. I…you tried to kiss me?" she blurted out, her mind at full capacity, unable to think of anything else.

"I…I'm sorry, I shouldn't have brought it up—"

"No, you're wrong. _I'm_ the one who tried to kiss you. _I'm_ the one who sought you out and disrupted you and you should be mad at me. It was just so magical and all I could think about was the music and—"

"No, I'm the one who got caught up. Your voice and, and I didn't even notice what you were in and I shouldn't have tried it was me who was—"

She didn't know what made her do it.

But she did it anyway.

She leaned over and closed the distance between them and kissed him, just for the shortest of moments on the lips. It wasn't the magic she had felt earlier but her eyes still closed and her lips still lingered just long enough that when she pulled back she felt as if she'd overstepped.

"I shouldn't have done that."

His eyes were wide beneath the black of the mask and new tears were welling up from her eyes out of embarrassment. Oh she should not have done that. That was a mistake, a huge mistake. She had obviously misread the signs coming from him and he was already apologizing for earlier and here she was just going for it. She needed to disappear. Fast. The door was on the other side of the room and her pants— oh gosh! Her pants weren't even on! She was already this embarrassed, guess running through the room in just her underpants wouldn't make things that worse. She could already feel the heat in her face and knew that it must be as red as—

This time he closed the gap.

 _He_ kissed her.

And it wasn't a peck on the lips like she had given him.

She gasped as his lips caught hers and the leather from his mask brushed up against her face. But he didn't pull away as fast as she had and she pressed closer, her hands on his thighs holding herself up as his hands came to rest on either side of her face. _This_ was the magic from earlier. This was what the her from an hour earlier had wanted, this was instinct over fear and she wanted to submit to it. Her lips danced against his as she moved closer to him so he wasn't leaning as far over. His lips mirrored her own and she wasn't sure how long they had been like this, only that she was beating herself up for not going through with it earlier.

It ended sooner than she would've liked.

His hands stayed on her face, his hands soft against her skin. When had he taken the gloves off? Come to think of it, she hadn't noticed them on him while they were at the hotel at all. Her breaths came in quick spurts and she found her own hands trailing up his arms to hold them to her face so he wouldn't let go. So the moment wouldn't stop.

However, time seemed to speed back up and his hands fell from her face and she clasped her hands in her lap as she sat kneeled across from him.

He cleared his throat.

"Well."

She bit her lower lip and gave a short nod. "Well."

He opened his mouth as if to say something but instead quickly shut it.

"I…" Christine started, not even sure of what to say.

"Thank you," he said a bit too curtly for someone who had just passionately kissed her. "That was…" he sighed and cast his eyes away from her. "Goodnight."

"Oh, um, goodnight," she said back as he laid back down, turning away from her.

"Goodnight," she repeated quieter, also laying down facing the other side and pulling the blanket up over her shoulders.

What on earth had just happened? And what kind of reaction was that? They had both admitted to wanting to kiss the other earlier and then they kissed. True, she initiated the first one but he certainly started the second one. Why did she even kiss him? She had been over this! It was the music and the _voice_ and nothing to do with her own wants. Or his. Just the music. But there hadn't been any music before then had there? No, there hadn't been and she still kissed him, _he_ still kissed _her_! There had been some sort of mutual want, mutual need and they both acted upon it and that had to mean something, right? Right? Her breathing was starting to become a bit more sporadic and those stupid tears were threatening her again. Hadn't she cried enough for one day?

Still, just as if they were inevitable, they came.

And she did her best to silence them on her own, settling on laying very still and trying her best to even her breathing but it wasn't working. What had she done wrong? It was a pity kiss. Had to of been. They were having bad days and he was just taking advantage of a vulnerable situation and that was why. That was why.

"Are you crying?"

She sniffled back some of her tears and scooted further away from the blanket in the middle of the bed.

"No."

Another tear rolled down her cheek.

"Was it that bad?"

She didn't answer. Instead she kept her eyes focused on the inky darkness in front of her. Maybe if she stared long enough she'd succumb to sleep. Maybe, just maybe…

The _voice_ was singing. Not loudly, no. Very, very softly just loud enough that she questioned whether Erik was actually singing or if her brain was imagining it as a coping mechanism.

She didn't recognize the tune but at the same time it felt…comforting. Like a pair of arms around her. Like her dad's arms around her. She gave a cough through her tears but still didn't turn over. Instead she just let the song wash over her, whatever song it was.

It was just the _voice_ until she felt a hand on her back rubbing small circles on top of her sweater. It was a lullaby she realized as her crying quieted down to silent sobs, her chest still wanting to dry heave but settling on ragged breaths. But the song didn't stop. The circles on her back didn't stop.

And her breathing evened out.

And her tears dried.

And her eyes began to droop, tired of crying over a violin that wasn't hers and a dad that she could no longer hold and a man who she couldn't seem to understand….

And her eyes finally shut, half asleep to the lullaby still being hummed around her, unsure if the gentle pair of lips she felt pressed to the top of her head was real or just her mind finally slipping into a dream…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be continued....


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW so it's been way longer than I would like since this got an update but it is here! I am so excited for what is to come in this story- probably 3 or 4 more chapters after this one!

She was standing on a cliff.

On a cliff…with the breeze blowing salty against her face and the sea below her crashing against the rocks, each wave reaching its crescendo and then crawling back into the sea. The sky was hazy…was it blue or grey? Was it clouds that obstructed her vision or merely mist? The breeze swept past again as she inhaled, her hair gently being blown around by the wind. 

“Christine?”

Her body turned but her heart felt as if it had stopped.

That voice…she hadn’t heard it in…in years. Her lips smiled but her eyes filled with unshed tears.

A few yards back stood a stout man, hands rough from hard labor and calloused from steel-stringed instruments, yet…there was a lively pink tint beneath his blonde scruff and his eyes were pools of clear blue water with smile lines creasing the corners. 

“Dad?” she breathed, taking a step closer to the man across from her, hand reaching out.

A warm smile was his only response as he approached her. He ignored the outstretched hand and continued walking until he was side by side with her shoulder, eyes cast out over the icy waters below.

“Seas are rough today…”

As if on cue, the waves crashed against the base of the cliff, consuming the pointed rocks that lay below. Her father was silent as he stood and watched, hands tucked behind his back. She swallowed, watching him over her shoulder until she turned to face the edge of the cliff with him. She took a deep breath, steadying herself. He smelled like sawdust and old cologne…he smelled like _home_.

_Home_. 

She blinked back the tears that she couldn’t understand why she was trying to shed, and felt his arm slip around her waist, tucking her close into his side. She nestled her head into the side of his flannel, inhaling his scent again.

“I miss you…” she whispered.

“Why?” He replied without a pause, rustling the top of her hair before pressing a kiss there on top of her head.

She shook her head. Why did she miss him? She was standing right beside him and he was as soft and warm as the last time she’d hugged him…how could she miss him when he was right here holding on to her? 

“I…I don’t know,” she settled on, looking up at him.

They fell back into a comfortable silence then, the ebb and flow of the waves the only noise. She’d been here before…she knew this cliff but…how? Why? She knew this beach…she knew these waters, she knew the taste of the salty air by memory….

Flashes of small children running along the rocky shores and splashing each other in the water overtook her sight, gone just as soon as they’d come. She was one of the children, with her curls and red scarf and…and the boy was…was little _Raoul_ who used to spend his summers with her at the beach…

She blinked again, refocusing on the waters below her. The water was as grey as the fog that rested around her…but there were trees in the distance that speckled the wall of grey with green. Pines perhaps?

“I still miss your mother.”

The gentle confession brought her attention back to the man at her side, her eyes closing as she let his voice wash over her. 

“Me too, Dad…” she trailed off, those familiar prickly tears threatening to break through again.

He nodded that solemn nod of his and brushed a hand under his eyes. “I wish you’d gotten to know her better…you’re so much like her my little Lotte…” his smile was sadder now as he looked at her before pushing a piece of hair behind her ear. “You make me so proud to be your Dad.”

She smiled despite the tears that were now falling down her cheeks (Why were they falling? Why did she feel such sadness? Was it because of her mother? She’d barely known her…was there another reason?) and she brought her hand up to cradle his hand in hers in an attempt to keep it against her cheek. 

“I try my best,” she whispered, leaning into his touch.

They stood like that for what could have been an eternity, neither showing any sign that they wanted to let go. Her dad’s lips tugged downward, his eyebrows creasing in concentration.

“Do you hear that?”

Christine lifted her head as she followed his line of sight, focusing over the open sea. His hand slid from her face but she kept one hand firmly snug around his, holding it like she used to as a little girl when they’d cross the street.

“I don’t hear anything…?” She trailed off, two little lines wrinkling in frustration between her eyebrows.

His eyes twinkled as he gave her a look…he knew something she didn’t? Or perhaps not…perhaps he was just listening again… _why_ couldn’t she hear it? What was he listening to?

He sighed and turned back to the sea. “The music…”

She shook her head and concentrated harder. Music? What kind of music? There was no one but them on this cliff…no one was out on the water, and the land across the stretch of sea was too far away to be able to hear any music from, yet—

She trusted him.

She strained to hear something, anything, but— nothing. She heard nothing.

Her father had noticed her frustrations and let out a chuckle. “Must be in my head then,” he paused and took a shaky breath. “It’s like a record player…always looping the same song, over and over…”

Christine blinked, confused at his words. She hadn’t any of her own to say in return. 

The hand that wasn’t in hers twitched at his side, snagging a loose thread on his pants until he picked it off. 

“It’s violin music,” he whispered, still looking down.

Christine squeezed his hand. “Oh? Like yours?”

The wind blew past again, pushing her hair in front of her eyes as she stood looking at him. Through her curls she could see him give a small smile then scratch at his beard and shake his head.

“I’ve never played this kind…it’s… _ethereal_ …” he breathed, letting his hand fall from her grasp. His eyes were locked on her’s but his mind was elsewhere…

Why was he being so confusing?

“I’m sure yours is just as good, Dad,” she reassured him with a smile as he looked back to the ocean, doing her best to ignore the uneasiness that was settling within her. 

The mist was growing thicker, perhaps mist wasn’t the right word anymore. Fog. Yes, this was fog that now surrounded them. It covered her visibility and she could no longer make out the trees on the other side of the water. Even the water was obstructed, but she knew it was there, the sound of crashing waves against the cliff was hard to ignore.

“Have you seen my violin, little Lotte?”

She paused.

“What?”

He turned to face her again. “Have you seen my violin?”

She swallowed and shook her head, taking a step towards him. “I…I don’t understand. Don’t you have it?”

His eyes were distant now and he shook his head. “I’ve seemed to have misplaced it…”

The fog was coming closer. It looked more like thick silver swirls instead of the clouds moisture she knew them to be. She felt him grab her arm, bringing her towards him as she jerked forward from surprise. 

“You know where my violin is, don’t you?” He sounded desperate but his eyes were not as crazed as his voice. His eyes looked the same as they did earlier: as if they knew something she did not. She barely noticed that the hand that grabbed her was suddenly gloved in black leather and that the grip was much tighter than before.

“I don’t, I don’t have it,” she repeated over and over as the fog grew thicker around her. The cliff now seemed taller than before and the sound of the ocean was overwhelming; loud and boisterous as each wave hit the side of the rocks, splashing her face—

_“You know where my violin is, don’t you?”_

She knew that voice. 

The _voice_. 

_“You’ve seen my violin…”_

She struggled against the hand around her forearm, gaping as she tried to break free. Where had her father gone? Why wasn’t he here? How did he get away so fast—

She looked up.

It was her dad’s clothes, but instead of his face a black mask sneered back at her, eyes golden like a cat in the middle of the night. 

“ _You have, haven’t you, Christine?”_ The _voice_ repeated, laughing at her confusion and efforts to get away. 

“No, no, no…I haven’t…” she trailed off, jerking against his hold until the force of her tug shoved her closer to the edge of the cliff. The fog was thickest here, she couldn’t see anything but those eyes in front of her…could only hear the repeated question in her ears…where was the edge? Was there an edge?

“I don’t have it!” She shouted again before she tugged once more, falling down….

Down…

_Down…._

Her breath hitched as she opened her eyes.

The ceiling was dark in front of her, the off-white looking grey in the lack of light. She took a steadying breath, sinking further under the covers. 

It was dream.

A dream…

It hadn’t felt like a dream though. She could feel the breeze, she could smell the saltwater, she could hear her father, her _dad._ She hadn’t dreamed of her dad in…in _months_. And when she did, the dreams were never quite so vivid, quite so tangible. 

If she wasn’t in a bed in a hotel in a state she’d never been to before, she might’ve believed that she was actually in Washington with him on that beach.

Washington…now _that_ was a place she hadn’t been to in years. There were too many memories there, too many reminders. She had spent most of her childhood summers there, living in her late grandfather’s house by the rocky shores with her dad. Why had her dream took her there?

_Why?_

She could understand why she had dreamed of her father. She’d had a rough day— a crazy day — and she hadn’t spoken so openly about him to anyone for a long time. Not to mention how her emotions were all over the place with the unwanted reopening of the wound her dad’s passing had left. She hadn’t cried about him in so long and to actually have someone else in the _same_ room _while_ she cried? Yeah, that never happened. 

It was easy to conclude why she had dreamt about her dad, but then where had Erik come into all of this?

She turned her head to the side where he lay next to her. Her left arm had crossed the blanket barrier at some point while she slept, her hand resting easily against his back on the sheet next to where he laid with his back toward her. She held still as she watched his chest rise and fall under the covers, noting how he barely moved at all. Slowly, she retracted her hand and tucked it down her side, turning so that she was facing his back, counting his breaths as if they were sheep.

Why had she dreamt of him? Was her dream trying to tell her something or was her brain just trying to make sense of the mess of a day she’d had?

Then of course there was the part of the dream that stood out the most…so much so that it was all she could do to keep her brain from replaying it over and over again in her brain:

_“You know where my violin is, don’t you?”_

She swallowed. She still hadn’t been able to get a good look at that violin…if she could just find a way to open the case without him knowing then she could look for herself. If it was really her father’s violin, then surely the carved out letters would still be there, right?

Without those initials, she could never be sure and without being sure…the thought of someone else with her father’s violin—

She hadn’t been back to her grandfather’s cabin since her dad had died, didn’t have the energy to clean it out, didn’t want to have to face what was in there. She had always assumed that his violin was there with the rest of his things…

Erik bristled. 

Was he waking up?

Quickly she shut her eyes, feigning sleep as the blankets around her shifted, listening to the sheets being drawn away and then a faint sound of something being set down.

_What was he doing?_

She wanted to look at him. Why was he getting up? It was early still, probably not even daylight outside. If she could just sneak a look at him and see what he was doing…yes, if she didn’t make any sudden movements and only opened her eyes a little bit—yes! That was it! Carefully, she raised her eyelids until she could see his silhouette, curtained by her eyelashes. He was sitting upright, legs swung over his side of the bed and head in his hands.

Maybe he’d had a bad dream too?

She dared to open her eyes a little more as his back was toward her and he couldn’t see her. However, she held as still as she could manage. If she moved he might look back at her and then if he looked back at her he’d know she was awake and if he knew she awake she’d be embarrassed all over again trying to explain why she was watching him—

Why _was_ she watching him?

He hadn’t proved to be completely untrustworthy and he had the decency to be at least civil to her while they’d been at the hotel. Okay, well…perhaps more than civil. They had _kissed_ after all—

Was that why she watched him?

He obviously hadn’t felt anything like she had. They had kissed and then he bid her goodnight. That was it. _It_. It had been a strange ending to a strange night and honestly, they had both been caught up in a feeling of mutual curiosity, right? Yeah…yeah…that was all. A mistake to be ignored. 

Maybe she shouldn’t have kissed him, she couldn’t even imagine how awkward this car ride would be the rest of the way to the airport. Would they even talk about it? Probably shouldn’t. Just let it fade into the rest of the day’s already hazy memory…

The bathroom door shut.

She blinked. 

When had he gotten up?

Had she been that lost in her thoughts that she hadn’t even seen him move—

Her eyes lit up with realization.

He wasn’t in the room and _she_ was. The violin cases were a few yards away from her, just teasing her with the information that might lay inside. 

She sat up, the comforter around her shoulder falling into her lap, and quietly got to her feet. The cases were on the other side of the room, so she walked carefully around to Erik’s side of the bed, failing to notice the mask that rested alone on the nightstand. 

The cases were still stacked neatly against the chair, one on top of the other. She quickly knelt down beside of them, holding her breath as her hands shook in front of her.

She would have to be fast, there was no telling when he would be out of the bathroom. 

The latches opened easily, clicking as she released each one. This was it, all she had to do was open the case and look at the back of the violin. Her trembling now stilled, she opened the case, staring at the neatly polished violin that lay inside. She had never seen her father’s violin look this shiny, she was being ridiculous…but she wanted to be sure. _Needed_ to know that she was being ridiculous so she could go to bed and get some peace. Once she’d confirmed that it wasn’t her dad’s…well, maybe she’d go back home to Washington after Christmas and check the house out for herself. It would still be there, in the closet he always kept it in…

But she had to be sure.

Had to be.

Gingerly, she picked it up out the case, wood smooth on her palms. Her fingers traced the strings, careful to not accidentally pluck one and alert Erik that she wasn’t in bed. 

She took a breath and turned it over.

_No_ …

No, it _couldn’t_ …

But it was. Plain as the day she’d sat on her father’s lap and carved it there:

_Daaé_

Her gasp came out as a strangled cry, one hand flying to cover her mouth and the other holding on for dear life to the neck of the instrument.

This was her father’s violin.

This was _her_ violin.

What was he doing with it? How had he gotten it? Had he stolen it? Had someone else stolen it and then he bought it? Or…or…

Her mind swam with questions, each one coming faster than the last one. Was the room spinning or just her thoughts? _Why_ was her father’s violin in this man’s possession? 

The bathroom door lock clicked, and the light from the bathroom shined a streak of light into the room, illuminating a path right where she sat.

Erik was going to discover that she was snooping around his things, but that fact seemed so unimportant at the moment. Let him see her, let him look her in the eye and tell her how he got _her_ violin! The room was shaking before her, her fury building with each second that went by. Without standing, she clutched the violin to her chest, words already fuming out of her mouth.

“Where did you get this violin?”

His reply didn’t come fast enough for her, so she instead whirled around to face him, still seated on the floor.

“Christine, no—”

“Tell me now or—”

But she didn’t finish her sentence. The light of the bathroom gave the perfect silhouette of him in the doorway, but it was enough light for her to see.

See _him_.

She couldn’t even find a voice in her scream. 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiiiiiii so this was supposed to have been published back at new years but there was an unexpected death in my family and it halted my progress on this chapter. My family and I are doing better now, and I was able to dedicate time this weekend to getting back to this story! Only two chapters and (maybe) an epilogue to go! Thank you so much for sticking with me and this story through all of my sporadic updates!

She was startled more than anything.

It was dark — _very_ dark — for a start, and there was hardly any light in the room. The bathroom door was cracked open and the light that seeped in from there was a dingy, dull yellow at best. Maybe that was the reason she stared: the shadows tricked her eyes into seeing things that weren’t there. But a part of her knew that wasn’t true…her eyes did not normally _lie_ to her.

She swallowed. 

Erik looked absolutely nothing like she’d imagined. 

The mask had raised a red flag, sure. How many people walked around in masks that covered their entire faces? But people were weird and she was desperate and besides, who was she to judge? He could wear whatever he wanted, it was his face, his life, but now—

Now to see that there was a _reason?_

Her stomach sank at the sight.

What had her naïve little head imagined hours ago in the car? She felt she could barely remember it now that he stood unmasked in front of her. Earlier she had imagined sharp features and a hooked nose and soft skin and…

It didn’t matter what she had dreamed up when reality stared her right in the face.

Sharp features, yes, but also sunken cheeks and an exaggerated jaw line. Dark circles and twisted skin where it should be smooth and puckered veins and—

No nose.

_No_. 

_Nose_.

She hated to be rude, but people usually had noses…right? _Right?!_

A gasp escaped her lips before she immediately regretted it, guilt already making itself at home deep within her.

How did he breathe? Could he smell? Did it hurt—

Oh gosh, why was she thinking these things?

Her cheeks warmed as she grasped the violin closer to her chest, eyes still wide. Despite the shock that still controlled her, despite the curious— albeit _rude_ — questions stinging the back of her mind, something still stirred within her; _anger_ still crept up inside her, her shock mellowing in light of the answers she craved more. 

Frozen for a moment, her eyes darted over to the spot where Erik nearly launched himself at, grasping for the black mask that lay discarded on the nightstand. 

The nightstand. 

That’s what she had heard earlier...the clattering noise before he had gotten up…

“Oh…” she sighed; the sound no louder than the heater thrumming next to the wall, the noise a welcome distraction from the situation at hand.

He stayed silent as she watched him with keen fascination put the mask back on, his back toward her so that he was facing the wall.

Good. She didn’t know if she could look him in the eye while accusing him of theft.

“Erik,” she said a bit quieter as if afraid to scare him. Or maybe she was afraid she may scare herself, she hated confrontation. 

“I don’t need your pity.” The words were hurled so suddenly at her that she ducked as if she’d been hit. 

Well, that wasn’t the reaction she had expected. 

He still hadn’t turned around.

“What—”

His chest heaved as he stood bracing himself against the wall, his nails carving lines into the frail, chipping paint; dry wall dust collecting on the polished wood of the night stand.

“I do not need your _kind_ _words_ ,” he said like an insult, “nor your sympathy,” he seethed.

But his voice shook.

This was not at all what she had planned on discussing. (Alright, discussing was the wrong word, perhaps arguing or yelling would be more appropriate). This man, who came across as so intimidating and confident looked so…defeated.

The violin slipped out of her grasp just slightly as her hold on it loosened, but she did not let go.

“Erik…I didn’t know…” she trailed off, cradling her violin closer to her chest.

A forced laugh emerged from him, his back straightening and his hand sliding down off the wall. “No, you didn’t.”

Silence fell over them again. She didn’t know what to say. She couldn’t offer him comfort, and she was still just itching to ask about the violin- but now was the wrong time, wasn’t it? Gosh, she was terrible at timing these things out. She should’ve stayed in bed and tried to peek at the violin later, maybe when they stopped for gas or breakfast or something and ask him then but no, of course she couldn’t. She had to get up in the middle of the night and seek it out— stupid impatient, insatiable curiosity. 

She felt terrible that Erik felt embarrassed and because he was embarrassed she was embarrassed and—

She was so good at making messes, but so awful at cleaning them up.

She supposed that was the reason she interrupted the silence between them with the only thing she could think of. The only thing that her brain could even think straight about at the moment:

“Where did you get this violin? Tell me now, I need to know.”

He turned just slightly, just enough that the side of his mask reflected a small bit of light from the bathroom. She must have caught him off guard with the question. But had she really? He should be the one questioning her since it was his things she had sorted through and now held in her hands.

Well…not technically all his things. This violin was _hers_. 

But he didn’t say anything.

Maybe it was her own stubbornness that made her approach him, maybe it was the fact that even though he stood practically frozen before her and refused to face her…or maybe it was that she trusted him.

Trust? Was that what it was? She supposed she trusted him to some degree. Trusted him enough to drive her halfway up the country, trusted him enough to sleep beside him in a bed, trusted him enough to _kiss_ him…

Her stomach leapt at the thought.

It didn’t matter the reason. All that mattered was she trusted he wouldn’t hurt her, and trusted he would give her an answer. It didn’t matter if his mask was on or off, she needed an answer and she needed it now. She had waited long enough. She stood, kneeling and then wavering on both of her feet before crossing the small distance between them. 

The violin was left in her grandfather’s cabin with the rest of her father’s belongings. In _Washington_. Not in some stranger’s care. Not in Erik’s care.

So why did he have it?

“Erik,” she said, a strange calm washing over her voice as she confidently stood, holding the violin out to him just slightly. “Where did you get this violin from? _Please_.”

He shrugged at that, just the tiniest raise of the shoulder. “What does it matter to you?”

“I need to know.”

A sigh, long and drawn out as if this was the last thing he wished to discuss at the moment came from him as his hands clenched at the sides of his pants. 

“A pawnshop ages ago…northern California?” He said as if it was an insignificant detail, his gaze still on the wall before him.

He was so _frustrating_.

Her eyes narrowed. “I don’t believe you.”

A pawn shop? What kind of made-up, nonsense answer was that? She hadn’t sold it to any pawn shop, and she hadn’t given anyone else permission to, no one had even been to her grandfather’s cabin that she knew of— surely it was viewed as a forgotten old relic by now, why would someone take it… _had_ someone taken it…

She closed her eyes but no tears came, how could they? She had cried herself out earlier, her eyes only burned with tiredness now, with grief she’d suppressed for so long.

She took a breath.

“On the back, there’s a carving…a name—”

Oh gosh, she couldn’t do this. This was too much. Too much confrontation, too much history to delve into. How was she supposed to explain the memories this simple instrument held to her, how was she to explain the care that her father had shown it, how this was his _everything—_

How was she to explain that in her grief…she had abandoned the violin along with every other thing in that house that she would have to face that meant her father was gone?

She wanted to appear strong, but her breath shook as she released a sigh, eyes closed and violin close to her chest. She _had_ to push forward. Why was it so hard to tell him? Why wouldn’t the words come out of her mouth? 

“ _Daaé_ …”

Her eyes shot open.

He had finished her sentence for her. She gaped for a moment, unable to do much more than stare at the loose threads on the back of his shirt as she searched for what to say next. However, all she could manage was a simple: 

“Yes.”

She watched as he nodded and began to turn towards her—

He stared only a second before his eyes shot to the ceiling.

She blinked, confused. 

“What…” she started, her own gaze following his to the ceiling—

“Christine…your _pants_ …” he choked out, eyes faithfully trained to the popcorn sky above them.

Oh she was really testing her own luck tonight wasn’t she.

Her face burned as blood rushed to her cheeks and she gave a small yelp, setting the violin on to the bed so she could use her hands to pull her sweater further down. Oh gosh why couldn’t she do one thing right without embarrassing herself. How had she forgotten about her pants? Her _pants_? Sure this had all escalated very quickly with the kiss and then the violin and Erik’s face…

With all that had happened, she had almost forgotten about that.

Well, she would gladly remember it everyday of her life if it meant her pants could be on her body and _not_ crumpled in the floor across the room.

“Erik?” she started as she backed away from him and towards the chair to hide behind. 

“Hm?” He answered, voice tight.

“Give. Me. My. Pants,” she said through gritted teeth, hands desperately stretching down the bottom of her very-not-stretchy sweater. 

Now of course it was not entirely his fault her pants were across the room, and should she have snapped at him? Probably not. But she had already stood before him in nothing but a towel and she usually didn’t neglect her clothing so frequently as she apparently was tonight. Not to mention he was the one who suggested she remove them in the first place.

Maybe this was his fault after all. 

Erik lowered his gaze from the ceiling for a moment to look around the room before walking to the other side of the bed and picking up her jeans. 

_ohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygod…this can’t get any worse…._

Her eyes were trained on him until he brought the pants to the chair, handing them over to her but not meeting her eyes.

“Thank you,” she muttered as she sat on the floor behind the back of the chair to put her pants on _entirely_ out of his view. 

This was not going at all like she had hoped. She pulled on one pant leg then the other, unsure if she was stalling to avoid the embarrassment she felt or the issue of confronting Erik again about the violin. She had gotten so close and then he just had to go and turn around. It was so quiet now and she was safe behind the chair, honestly, she could just stay huddled up back there until Erik declared it was time to return to the car. _Really she could._

But that was childish. 

She swallowed and stood to her feet.

She couldn’t avoid it forever.

“Erik—”

“Christine, I—”

They both spoke at the same time before they both fell silent; Christine’s eyes focused on him and Erik’s eyes cast down toward the floor. She pursed her lips and her eyes darted again to the violin that lay on the bed and then over to the alarm clock that blinked 6:17 back at her in a glowing red.

“Christine I can’t drive you the rest of the way.”

Her eyes cut back to him. 

_“What?”_

What did he _mean_ he couldn’t drive her the rest of the way? What was she supposed to do— _walk_? He had driven her so far, stayed in a hotel room, slept in the same _bed_ and suddenly it was too much? Was this about the pants? It was about the pants wasn’t it. Or the kiss or the towel or the going through the violin cases— oh she was an idiot.

“Why?” She pressed further, taking a step around the back of the chair so she was in front. 

He shook his head and ran a hand down his pants pocket, pulling out a set of keys and holding them out to her.

“Here, these are for the rental car.”

She cocked her head and felt her jaw drop. “No. I don’t understand—”

“I just, I can’t,” he jingled the keys in front of her, pushing them at her again. “You saw…you’ve seen,” he swallowed. “I can’t put you through that, just take them.”

Saw _what?_ His face? Was all this over her seeing his _face?_ No, that was ridiculous, there was no way. It was an accident and it was dark and…that couldn’t be it. He hadn’t brought it up besides that one conversation a few minutes beforehand and his mask was back _on—_

It was the violin. It was always the violin. She hadn’t exactly gotten around to the part in her plan where she yelled at him for stealing it, but perhaps he had caught on to her intentions non-verbally. She was a fuming wreck and her last name was on the violin for god’s sake and this was _him_ trying to escape her figuring him out, wasn’t it?

She reached forward and took the car keys.

He wanted to not own up to his actions and tell her the truth about the violin? Fine. _Fine_. She would find out on her own. She could call the police on him once she got home and they could call the rental agency and get his information and bring him in for questioning and—

She looked down at the keys.

“How are you getting out of here then?” She said, her tone still biting.

“I’ll find a way.”

She raised her head to look at him, he still wouldn’t meet her eyes, and took a steadying breath. “You won’t have a _car_.”

His eyes scanned over her, just for the briefest of moments, darting side to side as if he was searching for something in her own gaze before settling on looking just past her. 

“I’ll find a way,” he repeated. 

“No, I am not just letting you get out of this—”

“I’ll give you the rest of the gas money, the rental agency already has my credit card to pay for the car, I’ll check out of the hotel too but…I can’t take you any further.”

He turned then, collecting the violin from the bed and carrying it over to the case discarded on the floor.

He hadn’t even asked why she had been going through his things in the first place.

She stood shocked, not moving to collect any of her own things or to argue with him further. Was he really going to make her take the car? _Without_ him?

The sound of the light switch being flicked on caught her off guard as more soft light filled the room.

“ _Please_ ,” the whisper came broken from him and she met his stare and saw the water glistening in the corners of his eyes. 

She wanted to reach out and wrap him in her arms like he had done for her earlier…

Instead her voice hissed out: “Fine.”

She walked to the nightstand on her side of the bed where she had left her purse and phone and quickly shoved the latter into the former before picking up her coat from where it had slipped off on to the floor and faced Erik again.

“I’m not leaving without the violin. That’s my father’s violin. My violin. I don’t know how you _really_ got it, but I know if you aren’t coming with me, then I’m not leaving without it.”

The words poured out of her as if a switch of her own had been flicked on somewhere deep within her. If this was her last moments with this man whom she thought she had connected with, whom she thought might understand an inkling of the grief she had dumped onto him earlier, then she had to do what she could to secure the violin.

For her father if for no one else. 

Erik was silent for a moment before he shrugged, moving away from the light switch and toward the cases. 

“I recognized your name in the airport but I thought it was a coincidence…” Erik bent lower to graze a hand over the polished case that he had closed only moments ago. “That doesn’t change my mind though, I can’t let you suffer…in a car…not with me…”

What on earth was he rattling on about? It wasn’t a complicated request, she wanted her violin back. What was so hard to understand about that?

He raised his head to look at her from across the room. “Despite all that, I am telling the truth and I don’t appreciate being told that I am a common thief. I did purchase this _legally_ and I will find a receipt to prove it if I have to. So, _Ms. Daaé_ the answer is no, you may not take my violin with you. Now _please_. I am trying to remain civil here; I am not asking you to pay for any of the fees of this past day’s adventures and I think that is enough.”

She wanted to yell. She wanted to yell and scream and forcefully take the violin and tell him to shove his _explanation_ up his ass before slamming the door in his face.

But she didn’t. 

She didn’t yell or scream or take the violin. 

She did slam the door though.

Slammed it as she took a wavering look at someone she thought she trusted, someone she thought understood, someone she thought…

It didn’t matter what she thought. It didn’t matter if she had loved his playing or his voice. It didn’t matter if the only happy memory her mind could supply her with was replaying the moment their lips met hours before, it didn’t matter, none of it mattered.

He had betrayed that trust. Betrayed _her_ and left her on her own. 

Everyone always left her.

The car door slammed shut as well as she jammed the key into the ignition and threw her coat and purse onto the passenger seat and pulled out of the parking lot and back on to the highway, the lights blurring and blending together through her tears. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be continued...


End file.
